When I'm Gone
by Mindy35
Summary: GALEX. Post-eps for 2x06 and 3x08. There's one word Gene never wants to hear from Alex Drake. Goodbye.


Rating: K+, some lust and sorrow is all  
Disclaimer: Characters/universe are property of Matthew Graham, Ashley Pharaoh, Kudos Productions, BBC et al.  
Spoilers: Everything  
Pairing: Gene/Alex  
Summary: GALEX. Post-eps for 2x06 and 3x08. There's one word Gene never wants to hear from Alex Drake. Goodbye.  
A/N: Lyrics are by A. P. Carter from the 1931 song commonly known as "The Cup Song".

-x-

 _I got my ticket for the long way 'round  
Two bottle 'a whiskey for the way  
And I sure would like some sweet company  
And I'm leaving tomorrow, wha-do-ya say?_

 _When I'm gone, when I'm gone  
You're gonna miss me when I'm gone  
You're gonna miss me by my hair  
You're gonna miss me everywhere,  
Oh, you're gonna miss me when I'm gone…_

She caught him peeking and arched a brow. "Tempted?"

He looked away, feigning innocence. "Tempted?"

She nodded at the stack of envelopes propped against the salt shaker. "To open it."

Right, yes. 'Cause what other temptation could Alex Drake possibly be talking about? Infuriating woman. Gene took a gulp of her champagne and planted his elbows on the table. "I've got your voice naggin' in my ear all day long, Bolly. Why on earth would I want to invite more of that into my life?"

Alex shrugged an unconcerned shoulder, making a high little sound in the back of her throat. "When I'm gone, you might find you miss having my voice in your ear."

He dragged on his cigar. "Not unless you start whisperin' sweet nothin's in it."

"How do you know there aren't sweet nothings in my letter?" she murmured unblinkingly.

He flicked the ash into the ashtray, gaze lifting to her face. "'Cause I know you too well."

"Ah, but do you?" she mused in a silky tone. She hitched up the sleeves of her jumper then lent closer across the small table. "Do you _really_ know what dark, forbidden desires throb insistently beneath this professional façade?"

"You? Professional?" He humphed and dragged his eyes away from her. "Don't make me laugh…"

Alex picked up her champagne flute and took a sip. "You were the one who said that nobody really knows anyone in this life. So how do you know that _that letter_ ," she tapped the base of the flute against the letter marked _Gene_ , "doesn't read something like…" She stifled a smile as she took a breath, eyes sparking tipsily in the candlelight: " _Dear Gene…Though the two of us got off to a rocky start, I have found myself deeply and inextricably drawn to you over the last year or so. Indeed, I have fallen under the spell of your rugged Northern charm and my only regret in this life is that the two of us never spent one magical night together before I said goodbye_." Her smug smile unleashed, her fingers swinging her glass back and forth in the air. " _Love always…Your Bolly_."

For a moment, he was speechless. But only a moment. He was getting better at salvaging his manhood after Alex Drake made a sport of knocking him on his arse. Not that there was much sport in it for her. Not with how easy he made it. Gene sniffed and glanced aside. "S'not your style, Bols."

"No?"

"No." He grimaced and decided to pin her eyes, just to let her know her flirty little game wasn't working, not on him, not a bit. "You'd no more write that treacly trash than you'd stick a pair of those fancy-pants knickers of yours in an envelope and slide them under the table to me."

Her gaze lowered to the envelope, dark lashes veiling green cat's eyes as she sighed out, "Well…I guess you missed your chance to find out, didn't you?"

"D'you know," he grit, lifting his cigar to his lips and taking a long pull, "what type of person writes a letter and leaves it behind for someone to read after they've buggered off?"

"I'm sure you're going to tell me," she muttered dryly.

He exhaled a cloud of smoke. "The kind that loves a one-sided conversation."

She paused, one finger tracing the corner of his letter. "I can tear yours up if you prefer me to."

"I didn't say that." The words exited his mouth before he meant them to, the desperation beneath his snappy tone all too obvious.

"No. Well…." Alex bowed her head to hide her smile, graciously acknowledging his inglorious defeat. Then she rose, the tip of her finger still resting on his sealed envelope, leaning against the three unsealed ones. "I'll leave these with you then since I know you can be trusted not to peek."

Gene watched her rise, watched her smile as she ambled on long legs to the bar. Cigar at his lips and smoke swirling through his vision, he watched her lean against the bar, her shoulder bumping Shaz's and her butt cocking to one side as they waited to order. Bloody irritating woman. So typical of her to think she could leave him with a piece of her mind – a long-winded and less than complimentary piece no doubt – but allow him no way of retaliating. He could write letters too. If he wanted. Letters about that arse – brief they'd be, but poetic. Fond. Deeply appreciative. He'd miss that arse, that was for damn sure. He'd miss watching it waggle away from him, miss its pear-like shape under tight skirts and even tighter jeans.

And maybe – yes, alright – maybe he'd miss other things too.

Maybe he would miss her voice. Her mouth, her face, her hair. Those eyes, that seemed to see things in him that no else had. Not ever. He'd never admit it to her. But – eyes, voice, arse – he'd miss 'em all and in that order. Which is probably why he hadn't opened her silly letter, even as it burned a hole in his pocket. He wasn't respecting her privacy as much as he was avoiding what he was praying wasn't the inevitable. Because, of all the words that spouted from Alex Drake's incessantly moving mouth on a daily basis, there was one Gene never wanted to hear.

Goodbye.

-x-

 _I've got my ticket for the long way 'round  
The one with the prettiest of views  
It's got mountains, it's got rivers, it's got sights to give you shivers  
But it sure would be prettier with you_

 _When I'm gone, when I'm gone  
You're gonna miss me when I'm gone  
You're gonna miss me by my walk  
You're gonna miss me by my talk,  
Oh, you're gonna miss me when I'm gone…_

When she's gone, he tears apart her desk. That's where she said the letters would be. He finds little bits of her. A psychology book. Pencils with her teeth-marks on the ends. A tube of lipstick and a set of earrings. He doesn't want leftovers though. He wants her. He wants the actual her. Her words, her thoughts, her voice. He wants the last scrap of Alex Drake that exists in this world. And he will tear apart his whole damn universe to find it.

When he doesn't find what he's after in her desk, he goes to her flat, breaks down the door. He doesn't treat it like a sacred site. He treats it like a blagger who won't give up the truth about his crime. He shoves things off shelves to see what falls out. He pulls her clothes out of her wardrobe and rips apart the pockets. He opens things and throws things and steps on things and scatters things. And when her home still doesn't give her up, he stalks through the chaos he's created and presses play on the tape machine. Just to complete his misery. He listens to the song up until the point that her head dropped onto his shoulder. Then he picks the thing up, yanks the cords free and chucks it through the window. The glass shatters, blowing inwards and outwards, one shard catching his hand. The blood starts to trickle down his hand as he leans out the window to see the stereo in pieces on the pavement below.

Across the road, standing by a car with a set of keys in his hand is Luigi. He looks shocked but not surprised. He's dressed in civvies, an olive green shirt and brown trousers. He looks older than usual, duller somehow, his brow wrinkled with sadness as he gazes upwards. Gene pulls his head back through the broken window as Luigi crosses the road and heads down the steps into the restaurant. He grabs a tea towel from Alex's destroyed kitchen and wraps it round his bleeding hand. Then he moves on feeble legs towards the stairs. There's a funny feeling in his chest as he does. He's shaky and lightheaded, just like he always gets after pounding on some nasty piece of work. He feels sick in his guts as his feet drop down the stairs one at a time, knowing it's the last time he'll ever visit the home of Alex Drake.

When he rounds the corner and enters the restaurant, Luigi is behind the bar, a tea towel slung over his shoulder. Gene sidles up to the bar, pulls out his wallet.

"Whiskey, Luigi. And a bucket of ice."

Luigi says nothing as he pours his drink then fills a champagne bucket with water and ice. Before he sticks his wounded hand into it, Gene pulls a wad of notes from his wallet. He sifts through a few before just tossing the whole lot on the counter.

Luigi picks up the blood-stained notes. "This is too much, signor."

Gene juts his chin upwards. "S'for the damages upstairs." He sticks one hand in the ice bucket with a hiss then collects his drink with the other. "And I better settle the tab while I'm 'ere as I'm told you're buggering off outta 'ere as well."

Luigi gives a sad hum, his head tipped to one side. "Italy is, I'm afraid, cancelled."

"Uh." He exhales as the booze burns its way down his throat. "Sorry to 'ear that."

Luigi nods and pours him another. "As am I."

Gene pulls out a stool and sits, eyes narrowed as he asks, "So how d'you fit into this messed up little world then, Luigi?"

"Me?" Luigi stops what he's doing and faces him. "I am…how you say…a cupid?"

"Fat kid with a bow an' arrow?"

"Indeed." He motions at the dim interior of his restaurant – the rich red walls, the candles in wine bottles, the hanging vine leaves. "I am responsible for creating happy matches, encouraging lovers, those who never loved in their first lives."

Gene hums and sips his drink. "How nice for y'…"

"My last," he goes on more tentatively, "sadly unsuccessful commission was yourself and Signorina Drake."

He looks down, looks into his drink. Gene rotates the glass on the bartop a few times before answering. "She wasn't a signorina, Luigi. Drake was her married name. She was married. You know…" he pauses, palms his glass, lifts it to his lips, "before."

Luigi raises a finger and murmurs knowingly, "Aaahhh, but not happily."

"Well, who is?" he mutters as he sips.

"Exactly," Luigi says, finger pointing at him next.

Gene slides his glass across the counter. "So that's why, uh? Italy's cancelled?"

Luigi nods a few times and refills his glass. "I have not fulfilled my quota. Until I do, I do not go home."

He watches the amber liquid rise to an acceptable level. "Yeah, well…" He swirls it round in the glass. "You were almost there."

"Yes," Luigi answers sadly. "Almost." He hesitates before leaning closer to add, "I am sorry it did not work out for you and the beautiful signora."

Gene looks up.

"You loved her very much, I think."

He looks down again. His hand abandons his drink, lying flat against the bar. He gulps and examines it. He doesn't know what to say to the man. He remembers Luigi saying once how pathetic English men were in love. Which is what he is. Pathetic. And in love. He had been for years. Everyone knew it. He wasn't aware of it at the time but he's sure of it now. Every man he worked with could see he was head over heels. Anyone who observed them in Luigi's could see it. People passing on the street probably too. Those who knew the two of them even a little no doubt had him pegged from the start. After all, they worked amongst detectives. They might not have been brightest of the bunch, but they could certainly detect the bleeding obvious.

His hand throbs and his head swirls and his heart aches in his chest. "I…ah…"

He doesn't know why he can't just say it, admit that he'd been crazy about Alex Drake from the second he clapped eyes on her. And then crazy turned into something else. Something else altogether. Something that everyone else saw. And now he has to wonder if she saw it, if she knew it, if she felt it too. While he's wondering, Luigi wanders away. The old man takes away the burden of his gaze, the pressure he feels to formulate a reply, leaving him to contemplate his words instead. Gene sucks in a breath and downs his drink. Then he sees Luigi returning with a long white envelope.

He holds it out to him. "She give me this. Signora Drake. She wrote it recently and insisted I give to you."

Gene stares at the letter. Then narrows his gaze at Luigi. "Recently? How recently?"

Luigi gives a sorrowful shrug. "Mere days ago. Sitting at that table there." He points to a shadowed corner by the fresco, to one of the tables CID habitually co-opted for their own use. "With tears in her eyes. I think…" he pauses, his brow creasing and voice lowering, "I think she loved you very much also. Very much, Signor Hunt."

Gene nods. He takes the letter then nods again. "Thank you, Luigi."

Luigi nods in return.

Gene looks at the letter, at his name in her hand-writing. "Thank you…" he says again.

"Signor." Luigi steps back, leaving him alone with the whiskey bottle and her parting words.

Gene places the envelope on the counter, stares at it as he removes his hand from the ice bucket. He dries it on her towel, wraps it up tight then retires to the table Luigi pointed to. He props the letter against the pepper and salt shakers then pulls up a chair. He pours himself a double, takes one sip. Then he reaches out and opens the envelope.

Before he can get to her words, a photo slides out. He's seen it before. Many times. It used to be pinned to a board behind the reception desk. The board boasts a dozen or so images of satisfied, grateful customers. Regulars who attended with their children on Saturday evenings. Couples whose first date included Luigi's handmade ravioli and house red. One random celebrity who'd wandered down after her car got a flat on the street outside. And, of course, the ever-present table of boisterous CID officers.

The photo of them must have been taken sometime during Alex's first year in his world. In it, her hair is big with curls and her t-shirt falls off that shoulder he used to dream about biting. The two of them are sat at one end of a row of pushed-together tables, their backs to the Italian superstar fresco. At the other end, Ray and Viv hoist pints in the air, saluting the camera with drunken grins. Sandwiched in the centre, Chris and Shaz clutch each other in a tango hold, their cheeks mushed together and their lips making twin kissy-mouths. He and Alex seem to be the only ones unprepared for the photo to be taken. His static self is darting a look at the young lovers to his right, his arm slung loosely over the back of his DI's chair. To his left, Alex sits forward in her seat, her elbow on the table and her cheek in her hand. Whenever he'd seen the photo in the past, he'd assumed that, like him, her attention was on Chris and Shaz's cutesy antics. Now, looking at it more closely, he can see that her gaze is actually on him. A small smile lifts her lips as her eyes tilt up towards his scowling face.

Gene takes a sip of his drink and leans the photo against the shakers. He studies it a moment, wondering why she included it. Alex must have asked Luigi if she could have it so there must have been a point she was trying to make. There was always a point Alex Drake was trying to make. The woman never did anything without a reason behind it. Not that he got any better at understanding her motives. Not in three bloody years. She might've become a less obscure mystery in those years – but she remained a mystery to him nonetheless.

He reaches for her letter, hoping for some explanation, hoping it will explain everything. Hoping against hope that he's not going to spend the rest of his sad and lonely existence mulling over the endless whys and what ifs that Alex Drake left behind. His fingers unfold the pages – there's two of them, almost two full sheets of Alex. But there's one thing he's curious about before he begins and the first line provides partial resolution. Like the name on the outside of the envelope, it doesn't address him by the distant, professional, if affectionate title of "Guv." And unlike all those tapes that lie scattered upstairs, one of which found its way into his possession, it doesn't address him by way of a hostile and suspicious "Hunt".

 _Dear Gene_ , the first line reads. _Dear Gene_ … he reads again. He flips over the page to see how she says goodbye. His mouth twitches then smiles. Just a little. _Love always_ , she writes, _Your Bolly._

He lowers the letter to the table. He blinks a few times. He blinks at the vacant spot on the board behind the reception desk. He blinks at the photograph in front of him, at her face, her smile, her hair, that damn shoulder. Gene takes a sip of his drink. Then he picks up her letter and begins reading.

 _END._


End file.
